


Journalistic Ethics

by Cymbidia



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Kinktober, Kinktober 2018, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-26 00:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16209311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cymbidia/pseuds/Cymbidia
Summary: Clark does not need to pause for breath. He is also capable of vibrating his body at superspeed.Bruce is never one to turn down a quickie in the office.





	Journalistic Ethics

It was somehow still possible to look smug with a dick balls deep down your throat, but only if you were Superman. Bruce pressed the back of a hand to his mouth, trying to muffle a moan. His other hand was entwined in Clark’s hair.

“Jesus,” Bruce gasped. “Jesus _fuck_.”

Clark hummed. Smugly.

“Shit, fuck, I know you aren’t Jesus,” Bruce said, and had to stifle an honest to goodness sob as Clark’s tongue darted out and caressed his balls. “But holy _fuck._ ”

Clark pulled off Bruce’s cock, lips glistening. He looked perfectly put together, except for his wet, parted lips and his slightly tousled hair.

“It’s not fair to talk at a man when he can’t reply,” Clark said mildly, rubbing a proprietary thumb over the head of Bruce’s dick. Bruce bit back a noise and cursed again.

“It’s funny that you think-” Bruce’s voice hitched as Clark stroked his perineum with his other hand. “It’s funny you think I have any idea of what the fuck is coming out of my mouth right nnn _ngh_ \--”

Clark took Bruce back into his mouth, Bruce’s dick sliding with ease down his throat. He did not need to breathe, and he did not seem to have a gag reflex. With a mischievous gleam in his eye, his whole body began to vibrate.

That was when Bruce’s knees gave out.

“Where the fuck did you learn to do that?” Bruce gasped, both hands tugging ineffectually at Clark’s hair. Clark held him up effortlessly with two warm, uncalloused hands. Bruce let Clark take his weight, anchored by nothing but the hands on his ass and the mouth on his cock. With a shiver of shock, Bruce realised that they had lifted off the ground. He tugged harder on Clark’s hair, and threw his head back as the sudden rush of fear sent adrenaline pulsing straight to his dick. He gave one last loud cry, and came right down Clark’s pliant throat.

Clark pulled off and set Bruce down gently. Bruce collapsed into his office chair. Clark continued to look extremely pleased with himself.

Bruce panted, trying to forget the embarrassing sound that had escaped his mouth.

“I overheard Flash talking about it, and thought I’d try it for myself,” Clark said, mild as you please, “I’m glad it worked. Isn’t it a neat trick?”

Bruce flipped him off.

“But Mr Wayne,” Clark said innocently, “I thought you rather enjoyed it.”

“I can hold my breath for up to ten minutes,” Bruce said in lieu of a reply. “I also have complete control over all my bodily reflexes.”

“You’re so full of shit, Bruce,” Clark said fondly, combing his hair into place with his fingers and putting his glasses back on. He licked his lips and caught the single stray droplet of jizz that had landed at the corner of his mouth. “If only the League knew how petty the fearsome Batman really was.”

“I’m not _petty_ ,” Bruce ground out, crossing his arms in protest.

Clark huffed in amusement, then stood and straightened his tie. Bruce was gratified to see Clark having to adjust himself in his pants.

“Our time is almost up, Mr Wayne,” Clark said, the very picture of professionalism as he ignored Bruce and scrubbed through the recording on his phone to make sure he had remembered to turn it off before anything incriminating happened.

Bruce squinted at him, unwilling to move from where he had collapsed into his very expensive and very comfortable office chair, pants around his thighs and ass sticking to the soft buttery leather.

“This is a breach of journalistic ethics,” Bruce accused. His arms were already crossed, so he pulled his mouth down to express his displeasure.

“It was almost seven minutes,” Clark conceded. “Stop pouting.”

“Fuck off, Kent,” Bruce reluctantly wiped himself off with one of the endless handkerchiefs Alfred insisted on hiding on his person, then stood and pulled up his pants.

“I’ll see you later.” Clark pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips. Bruce tugged on Clark’s tie as he deepened his kiss with a promise of __later__. Clark gestured towards the door to indicate that someone was coming, so the two of them separated and maintained a respectable distance.

“Wait” Bruce said, as his secretary knocked and entered. He took a mint from the candy bowl on his desk and lobbed it at Clark. “Don’t forget to freshen up.”

Clark shrugged and put it in his mouth, looking like neither butter nor the candy would melt. “See you later, Mr Wayne.”

Clark’s suit was atrociously ill-fitting, but Bruce still made a point of watching his backside as he left.

Then Bruce sat down and put his legs up on his desk. Clark could be as smug as he liked, but _he_  wasn’t the one who had just received the best blowjob of his life. Bruce was pretty pleased with himself too.

**Author's Note:**

> Despite being written for kinktober...this....wasn't...that...porny.... Mostly bc it's the first Superbat thing I've finished and it's mainly me feeling out how they interact. I'll try make up for it if I do more kinktober fills but...sorry....  
> I pounded (ha!) this one out in under an hour at 1am and have not proof read, except going through the red underline squiggles in my word processor. Please let me know if there's any disastrous typos or anything.


End file.
